


Killing Time

by Pseudo_Nym



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudo_Nym/pseuds/Pseudo_Nym
Summary: They’d killed him before. That much was obvious. Obvious from their expression, from their movements, from his own washed-out, scraped-clean memories. He couldn’t remember much, of course, but there were little things that made it through – little bits of bleeding ink and déjà vu, scars from the world’s improperly tended wound. Everybody got them, but he knew what they were, what they meant. He’d had practice reading time’s fine print, and there was no mistaking the fact that he had died.They interrupted his thoughts with a half-hearted swipe.





	Killing Time

They’d killed him before. That much was obvious. Obvious from their expression, from their movements, from his own washed-out, scraped-clean memories. He couldn’t remember much, of course, but there were little things that made it through – little bits of bleeding ink and déjà vu, scars from the world’s improperly tended wound. Everybody got them, but he knew what they were, what they meant. He’d had practice reading time’s fine print, and there was no mistaking the fact that he had died.

They interrupted his thoughts with a half-hearted swipe. It would have barely nicked him, had he not dodged, but the barest nick would be enough. So he chose to be somewhere else, instead, then returned fire with bones and blasts. They slipped effortlessly between each one, looking almost bored. The battle had been going on a while, now, and neither of them had landed the slightest blow.

Yeah, they’d certainly killed him before. But what he was starting to realize, with a creeping sort of nauseous dread, was that they’d done it a _lot_. Dozens of times, at least. Maybe hundreds. Maybe more. He wondered how often he’d realized it, in his last moments. 

He flung them towards a wall. But they landed on their feet and leapt away with practiced ease before he could bring his bones to bear. So he did it again. And again. And then…

They were a hair too slow. One bone clipped one ankle. It was hardly a wound – Papyrus would have hit harder. But it was the first blood in the last corridor, and when it hit the tiled floor it almost seemed to echo.

For a half-second they stared at the mark it had left. Most people would have said their expression didn’t change, but Sans saw something flicker. Not anger, or frustration, or anything half so alive as that, but just the lightest dusting of disappointment. Then it was gone, and they swung their little stick at him again. 

It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. One or two more attacks were really all he had left. One fancy one, maybe, and then a whole lot of nothing. It seemed so pointless. They’d win. They’d kill him. And then they’d come back, and kill him again. Disgusting. And he was pretty sure they’d been friends, once, too. 

So he decided to indulge himself, and go a bit off script. He dropped all the little bones flying around the room and gave his saddest smile.

“you… you really hate me that much, kid?”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but it wasn't this. They staggered, _hard_. As if his words had been a hammer. As if their heart was heavier than all his blue could make it.

They opened their mouth to shout some reply, but all that came out was a wheeze. They frowned, and coughed, and worked their jaw, until they finally managed, in a soft raspy voice that echoed through the underground, “No.”

He gave his head the slightest tilt. “then why? why keep killing me? you could destroy this world and be done with it, right? or you could do something else. literally anything else. that’d be nice, too. why this?" He paused. "don’t you have anything better to do?”

They looked away, lonely and tired and sad. An expression he knew, but not on that face. After a moment, they managed a whisper, heavy with emptiness. “I thought… thought you understood. N-not hate, or anger, j-just...”

“determination.” They nodded. “you want to beat me without getting hit, is that it? just because you can?”

They forced a smile. It didn’t quite reach their eyes. Kind of a creepy expression, to be honest. “D-done that. Want to be more consistent. Not just o-one time in three or four.”

One time in four. Great. Maybe he wasn’t all that good at his job after all. “then what?”

They shrugged, stiffly. “Thought, maybe, I could try to go for the whole underground. Without ever g-getting hit or reloading anything, I mean. S-something to do.”

He grit his teeth. “and then?”

“Don’t know. Anything I can think of. Anything that’s new. Probably go back to helping people, for a while. That’s more fun, anyway.” They were slowly getting more used to talking. How long had it been?

“why not just move on?” he asked. They stared at him with something like horror. He shrugged. “to the surface, I mean. enterprising kid like you, don’t tell me you’ve never made it through the barrier.”

They nodded, slowly. But all they said was, “I can’t.”

“and why not? got to be loads you haven’t seen up there. lifetimes of peaceful living. that's worth a shot, isn't it?”

“I just c-can’t! I don’t know how!” Their voice cracked and they looked away, something shimmering in their eyes. He decided to pretend it wasn’t a tear. He wasn’t ready for this particular child to start crying, not yet. So he waited. He was good at that. Maybe too good. He sighed.

For a moment, the only sound was the song of distant birds. And then they went on, quick and quiet and brittle as ice. “I've broken the barrier. Set everyone free. Everyone _else_. You think I don't want to go with them? I'd give anything to live with M-mom and Dad, eating Butterscotch Pie, t-telling stories... we'd all be together again, even if I had to bring _somebody_ along in a stupid flowerpot. But it doesn't _work_. Not for me. Not for me. I’m... stuck." Their tiny hands formed tiny fists. “Frisk just leaves me here, with n-nothing to do but listen to the roaring wind or reset everything.” They spun back towards him, a fire blazing in their eyes even as the couldn’t-be-tears continued. “I spent a hundred years in that howling dark. I won’t go back. I _won’t._ ”

There were... several questions, there. He decided to start with the one least likely to cause headaches. “who’s, uh, frisk?”

They rolled their eyes. “The kid!” They pointed to themselves, as if it were obvious.

Oh, boy. Wrong choice. Ow. Ow. He rubbed his aching skull. “and you are?”

They looked less certain. “...Chara, I think. Or I was, once. I’m not completely sure, anymore. It’s… been a long time. Lines have started to blur. Maybe I’m someone else entirely.” They swallowed. “I think I died.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “join the club, bub.”

They laughed, too, as cold and clear as winter's wind, wild and desperate and raw. “You’re not dead! And neither is your brother, or anyone else I killed. Not really. I’ll reset the world and bring them back, good as new, as soon as I’m done here.” They glanced down at the stick in their hand, and had the audacity to attempt an apologetic smile. “No harm, no foul.”

He growled. “there are always scars. little echoes. little nightmares. there’s no such thing as a _true_ reset.”

“Is too! It’s not easy, but when I’m determined enough, and when Asr-- when Flowey’s not playing tug-of-war with the timeline, even though he _knows_ he’ll lose, _again_ , I can manage it fine.”

He blinked. “flowey? is there a third one of you in there? sounds, uh, crowded.”

“Ugh. I forgot how much you don’t know. No, Flowey’s the flower that’s been messing with – look, it doesn’t matter right now. The point is, none of your friends are dead. Obviously.”

“and you are?”

“Maybe.”

He gave his skull a scratch. “then, uh, maybe… maybe you really _should_ move on. isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you die?”

“Big talk from the _skeleton_ ,” they spat. But before he could argue the point, they continued. “You just want me to _give up_ , like you have. Well, I won’t. And you can’t make me. I like it here. So what if it gets a bit repetitive, at times? Some things are worth repeating.”

“why?”

“Because I like you! And Papyrus! And Alphys and Toriel and Asgore and Undyne. And Mettaton and Muffet and everybody. The talking rock. The temmie named Bob. That guy licking the ficus. I like you all too much to ever leave you.” 

“you mean to set us free.”

“Yes! That is what I mean, okay? I don’t want to let go! And there’s nothing you can do about it, either, haha! Haha... ha.” They were definitely crying, now, denials be damned. But they managed a smile anyway. He could respect that. “Besides, even if I wanted to, I could never leave Asriel. Ugh, Flowey, I mean. If he got a happy ending, maybe I could give up mine. Maybe even face the darkness again. But I won’t abandon him. He’s… he’s dead, too. And it’s my fault.” Their hands were shaking, and their breathing started to get real funny. “It’s all my fault,” they said again, as soft as sadness.

Sans looked through them. “and there’s nothing you can do for him?”

“Nothing! I’ve… I’ve looked everywhere. I was trying to find his happy ending when I first… when I first killed everyone.” They looked almost nauseous. "It... didn't work."

They stared at the tiled floor. Sans watched. Watched their eyes dance from despair to self-loathing to an empty, desperate, _pain_ , and behind it all a determination that could do anything. Except, it seemed, help a friend. Slowly, an idea formed. He didn’t entirely like it. But he only had the one.

“everywhere? really? you completely sure about that?” They looked up at him, eyes demanding answers. “i mean, maybe… have you ever heard of ☝✌▵❄☜☼?” They winced at the sound. He nodded, unsure. “smart guy. very determined. wanted something the universe didn’t want to give him. came close, but the universe doesn’t play fair.” He shrugged. “ended up so erased from existence that even his name sounds like, uh, that. you should look for him.”

“...You think I could find him?”

“find his trail, if nothing else. he was onto something. wouldn't have vanished if he wasn't."

“And then what? I bring him back, somehow?”

“maybe. if anyone can do it, it's you, kid. if you want it bad enough, and dig deep enough.”

They glowered, suspiciously. “Or maybe you just want me to waste time chasing ghost stories instead of killing people.”

“hey, i wouldn’t complain! but ☝✌▵❄☜☼ _is_ real. or, uh, he was, anyway. and it sounds to me like you’ve got time to spare. am i wrong?”

They stared into the middle distance, silent as stone and twice as still. Sans tried to ignore the growing chill in his bones. Eventually, they turned back towards him, looking uncertain, almost afraid. “…Where would I even start?”

He forced another shrug. “don’t ask me. maybe the old lab. it won’t be easy, mind, but if you find him? two of you working together, there’s nothing you won’t be able to set right." He chuckled. "that’s what you want, isn’t it? to make things right?”

They frowned. Then they sighed, and as they did, all the pain seemed to seep out of them, like pus from a wound. And when it was gone, without a word, they vanished. But as they did, he thought he saw something shimmering in their eyes.

 

He decided to pretend it wasn’t hope. It made him feel a bit less cruel. He did what he had to do, after all. And heck, maybe they’d even find some answers. But the universe doesn’t play fair, and he knew exactly what happened to people who looked too close at that particular mystery.

The world gave a sickly shudder, time preparing itself to reset. He walked to the nearest window. It really was a beautiful day, but he was just so _tired_. He felt his eyes begin to close. He didn't fight it.

“get lost, kid. and stay that way.”

Everything went white.

**Author's Note:**

> The first part is semi-autobiographical. Sorry, Sans, I've played this game way too much. And I can't promise I'll ever let go.
> 
> Now, once he starts talking back, I was probably hallucinating.


End file.
